


Before the winter came

by WillowWolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dogsledding, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Secret Society, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snow and Ice, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, can there be smut in arctic temperatures?, intrigue in the arctic, ish, this is supposed to be mildly humorous, tune in to find out!, ust what ust, willowwolf writes a thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:56:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4309581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowWolf/pseuds/WillowWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After receiving a cryptic letter, Sansa ventures to the far far north in order to rescue her long missing little sister with the help of an anti-social wilderness guide, only to get drawn into a battle between life and death. Or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing as far as suspensey thrillers. Yes, I know suspensey isn't a word. Yes, there will probably be smut, and adorable doggies causing trouble, a little humor hopefully, and maybe some sort of ASoiaF style "magic"? Hopefully this will not all dark and angsty because my other fics have enough of that. Also, this is set in a bastardized version of westerns/north america... just go with it. The first few updates will be in fairly close succession and then we'll see where it goes from there.

Prologue

She had always thought they were stories. Scary stories of the first men, and the children of the forest, tales of the winter king.. She thought they were stories meant to keep young children well behaved less their parents turn them out in the night to be claimed. She knew the truth of it now. A truth which had been buried so far north, and so deep down that few knew of its existence. But _they_ felt otherwise. _they_ wanted to unleash that darkness on the world, and watch it burn. Arya knew someone had to stop them, she knew that she had failed. Knew that right now, soft, gentle, sweet Sansa was her only hope. 

She had sent the letter with the first and last south bound ship she’d come across in the harbor. They’d be finishing shipping north for the winter soon, and she could only hope that the letter found Sansa before it was too late. She could only hope that Sansa understood the story hidden within it’s text and found the coordinates before it was too late. There were a lot of variables to consider _too many_ she thought, brushing back her close cropped hair and fitting her cap more tightly upon her head. If she had done the math right, the men would be breaking down her door any minute and taking her away, taking her to _they_ were… To where _he_ was. He was all they had left, her and Sansa. Whether Sansa knew it yet or not, the girl who loved tales of knights and fair maidens was their last hope, and she could not let him die.


	2. Chapter one: let's be clear, I'll trust no one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive response so far! I'm really excited about this one, and hopefully i'll be able to keep to faster updates than my other fic. which you should all read, just btw ;)
> 
>  
> 
> [ pic set ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/123735941444/sansa-had-thought-that-she-knew-the-cold)

The shuddering arctic wind of Queenscrown was a far cry from the warm coastal breezes in Sunspear, and despite what the man at the outdoor store had claimed, the north face jacket which threatened to swallow her alive with its bulk did nothing to keep out the cold. Sansa had thought that she knew the cold, having grown up in what most people would consider the far north in Winterfell. She had skied down mountains dusted with snow with the best of them, and had even done a polar bear plunge or two, but that was nothing compared to the weather this far north, practically at the wall. Sansa shrunk further into the folds of her coat and pressed her mittened hands over her ears, which despite her stylish fluffy earmuffs had taken on a bright shade of pink. 

It had taken her three planes so far to get to this point, and the planes themselves shrank with each leg of her journey. The last plane was supposedly a “commuter” jet of some kind, and although it had the capacity for around 60, only her and 15 other passengers had climbed aboard. The ride had been a nightmare with barely enough leg room for someone as tall as she was, and Sansa had been grateful to deplane and climb into the sad excuse for a terminal and into the warmish air within. It was only then that she had discovered her day was about to get worse. When Sansa had inquired why there weren’t any other planes on the runway, and when her transfer was due to get in the small man behind the counter, who was not wearing a sweater anywhere near warm enough for the current chill inside the lobby, had laughed boisterously. 

According to that smug little _brat_ who had a hard time containing his mirth at her earmuffs, she was waiting for a little two seater. As in two passengers, and cargo. Lots of cargo, which would take her to Shadow Tower. She’d been horrified, naturally, which had only caused the man to laugh harder. He assured her that the pilot was more than capable and told her they’d flag her down when it was time to board. After a few hours of waiting, Sansa had come to stand outside and watch the sunset despite the fact that it was barely past lunch. A brilliant pink color painted the sky, it cast a warm glow across the snowy landscape and left her breathless. 

If it hadn’t been for her sister Arya, she wouldn’t be here in the first place. Sansa wished she could say it was a complicated series of events which led her off on her current adventure, but if she was being honest, the cryptic letter from her sister had arrived in just the nick of time. After being abused by who should have been the ideal fiancé, a ken doll IRL , Sansa had finally gotten the courage to get off the sinking ship. Joffrey, the ex-fiancé, had seen things differently. He had liked her because she fit into his life plan, and his father had suggested it. Joffrey had big plans to be the first west-coast born president and to let those _east coast bastards_ as he called them know how they did things out west. 

If she was being honest, Sansa thought he was more adept at partying on yachts and playing golf at the country club. However after being wined and dined at all the top restaurants and having her name appear with a flash and a splash on all the local society pages and gossip columns Sansa got used to the idea of being first lady. She had big plans for being loved, and being the next great Queen of Westeros. That fairy tale, sad to say, had gone down faster than the Blackfyre rebellion when Joffrey showed his true colors. 

When Sansa got the letter, it was the perfect excuse. She gave him his ring, threw her belongings in storage and hopped on the first plane out of town. Sansa pulled the letter out of her pocket again, smoothing the crinkled pages against her thigh in order to reread it. She hadn’t caught it at first. The clue, and it was actually something Captain Douchebag had said that made it click. He was mocking her for the childish way she curled her letters on a note that she’d left him, and suddenly it was as if the lights came on. With three natural born brothers, one adopted brother, and a live-in boy cousin the girls had plenty of practice hiding their diaries and notes to each other from prying eyes. 

Eventually, during a candy and soda fueled sleepover binge, they’d constructed a written code disguised within regular hand writing. Arya had stopped using it after she realized that Sansa had shared their secret with her friend Jeyne, but it would seem she hadn’t forgotten it after all.The letter had contained a plea for help and a set of coordinates. If not for the fact that Arya had been missing for so long, and that she had literally no other family left Sansa would have dismissed the letter, the last time they’d spoken things hadn’t been well. But some intuition told her that this mattered, that it wasn’t just another of Arya’s schemes. And now she waited.


	3. Chapter two: Those idle dreams go back to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i may have accidentally stayed up until 2am last night working on this story... lol I suppose i've been inspired. Also, thank you so so much for all the positive feedback! I'm either going to have the next chapter up this evening or tomorrow, because who needs a proper posting schedule am I right??
> 
> I really suck at [picsets!](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/123819020249/before-the-winter-came-2831-words-by-willowwolf)

After the sunset, temperatures dropped rapidly and Sansa scurried inside seeking warmth and food. She had thought initially to stay and watch to see if any stars appeared, but it seemed almost at once she was convinced that a moment longer and she’d lose toes. Not that the lobby was any warmer. 

The small building appeared completely abandoned, and only the periodic static and dialogue bursts coming from a small tv in the corner, combined with the gentle hum of electronics and the mechanical whir of the gasoline generator out back broke up the silence. Sansa stamped her boots to rid them of any clinging snow, hoping the movement would also serve to stir her blood into movement and warm her up. 

“Hey!” Sweater-man called motioning her over. He produced a thermos with some hot-cocoa and despite the fact that she resented his mocking of her fashion choices, Sansa accepted it gladly murmuring her thanks. “The plane will be in anytime, she got caught up at the last stop. Something about the engine.” 

Sansa didn’t want to think about engine trouble, she didn’t want to think about anything honestly, but sweater-man insisted they’d still be able to fly out today so she raided the vending machine for licorice and a snack-pak and made a fluffy north-face nest on one of the lobby chairs as close as she could get to the radiator. 

Exhaustion and stress got the best of her and Sansa felt herself dosing off when the little yellow plane skidded to a halt on the runway an hour later. It was yet another thirty minutes after that that Sansa was informed that they would take off ton the morrow instead. Apparently the little engine hickup had been worse than they’d initially thought. Sweater man donned a light coat and told her he’d take her to a nearby B&B where she could spend the night. It was a combined sense of exhaustion, exasperation and mild dread that drove her to follow him back towards the cold and out into the night.

—-

Sansa felt herself falling, a scream ripping itself from her chest. Down, down, down as if she would never stop. Until she did. A strong hand grasped her hand, and it was suddenly as if she was floating softly down in a swirl of light instead of the rush of wind and fear and darkness that had only just captivated her. The man was a shadow of strength, and he held her tightly as they fell. Shielding her. His scent enveloping her and his strong arms keeping her close. She hit the bottom with a jolt, and woke.

—-

Her toes were cold, and there was a rather fat cat cleaning its paws from its chosen spot on her stomach. Sansa couldn’t help but shoot a glare at the ratty cat, and began to jiggle back and forth hoping to dislodge it. She didn’t know this cat, and didn’t want to risk getting scratched and falling ill from some obscure northern cat disease before finding Arya. 

The cat gazed at her lazily and yawned, stretching its back and digging its claws deeply into the comforter. Sansa yelped as the grazed her stomach through the sheets and, giving up all hope of behaving cordially, grasped the pillow from under her own head and lobbed it towards the offending feline. 

It would seem, the cat shared her distaste for disturbances and fled the seen. Well, it stepped from her stomach at least, and took up a post at the end of the bed to glare at her even more distastefully. She had been dreaming, before the offending feline had plopped itself unceremoniously on her stomach waking her. 

It had only been moments ago, and yet the dream slipped from her mind like water might slip through fingers, with only the memory of a scent lingering. Vaguely reminiscent of her father, yet cloaked in ice and something else she couldn’t quite place. 

Sansa groaned and pulled the flannel sheets over her head, fumbling with one arm exposed to the morning chill grasping for her cell. It had been placed on the nightstand the evening before, only the distance hadn’t seemed quite as far to reach with the warm air of the evening still lingering about. the cell was just about worthless with no signal, but it still showed the time. Displayed over a sunny beach shot of her and the ex-who-will-not-be-named. _I need to change that_ Sansa groaned again just for the sake of it, and glared out the window. 

There was no natural reason the sun should be up this early, well, there was. She knew all about polar-axis etc _blah blah blah_ but with it being almost daylight and only 4am, she wasn’t about to applaud science. _I just need to stay positive. I’ll fly north, find these coordinates, find Arya we’ll move back to Sunspear, open up a bar and live happily ever after. Haha._ Sansa chuckled glumly _or something like that._

The cat meowed at her loudly, as if sharing the joke. Sansa sat up, rolling back the covers, and made to scratch it. She was met with an ominous glare from the cat _again_. It shunned her touch and turned to climb onto the window sill. 

—

After a brisk shower and an extra layer of thermals Sansa and her duffel found their way down stairs, to where there was a murmur of morning noises and softly spoken words drifting about. The place sweater-man had taken her to was actually pretty cute, despite having too much of a rustic hunting lodge vibe. She wondered if they actually got that much business this far north, and or if they just rented out a spare room when necessity dictated. Sansa approached the kitchen and found her hostess, Val, manning the oven, wearing a very casual set of pj’s despite the chill. 

She was chatting happily with a striking woman who sat at the table. The woman had a shock of straight hair, which was shaved all down the left side. The woman at that moment threw her head back in a laugh that was far too mirthful for this hour. It startled Sansa, and she bumped into a precariously placed statue of a golden lion. The thing tumbled and thunked onto the rug, but didn’t break. Val and the woman looked up, the latter giving her a once over that may or may not have been highly suggestive. 

“Good Morning!” Val called, brushing her dark honey hair out of her face, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I never liked that gaudy thing, pity you didn’t break it.” Sansa flushed at that, not sure if she was telling true or not. The seated woman’s catlike smirk twisted up further as sudden realization dawned. 

“Ah! This must be my charge! I’m Margaery.” The woman, Margaery stuck out her hand and Sansa grasped it in turn giving it a formal shake. “Bronn said there was a fire-kissed damsel in distress waiting for me to sweep her away.” Margaery patted the seat next to hers excitedly and turned to fix Sansa a cup of coffee.

“Sweater-man’s name is Bronn?” Sansa asked timidly. Val laughed to herself at Sansa’s given name for the man, and turned to stifle her giggles as Margaery answered. 

“Yes, he’s my lover. But don’t tell him that, his head will only get bigger. Those were his words by the way, you hardly seem like a damsel in distress to me.” Margaery took a sip from her mug. “What on earth brings you this far north anyway? Do you know someone here?” 

Sansa made to answer about Arya and the letter, but thought better of it. If Arya had gone through all the trouble to ensure that her note was kept a secret, mayhap it was not the wisest choice to share the details of her journey with strangers. Sansa took the proffered seat and twisted the mug of coffee distractedly, buying time to answer.

“No one really, I’m a photographer.” The lie dripped from her lips with an ease which surprised even her. It was true, she had studied art photography and design in school, and had brought her camera to see if she could get any personal value out of the journey, but it hadn’t occurred to her until just now to utilize that fact as a cover. 

“I’m riding with you as far as you’ll go.” She continued. “Then I figured I’d hire someone to take me inland, a tracker of some sort.” 

“This time of year?” Margaery lifted a spoonful of porridge to her lips to blow on as Val plunked a rather too large plate stacked high with toast, eggs and a variety of meat. Sansa poked at it, she was a vegetarian, but hadn’t the heart to bring it up just now. 

“You’ll be stranded through the winter you know.” Margaery continued, a look of concern crossing her face. “There’s no one mad enough to take you inland, you’ll be stuck.”

Sansa felt flushed, she had to get to Arya. She had to. “I really must. I have to, it’s very important.” She managed at last, taking a piece of toast to butter in an effort to act casually, as well as to have something to distract herself with, trying not to give away too much. The other two women stared at each other meaningfully for a moment, before Val at last broke the silence. 

“There is one man…”

“No.” Margaery countered. “He’s a sour bastard and I’ll not bring this poor girl to his doorstep begging him to be anything less.”

“But he’d do it, for the right price. He’s the only one.” Val urged gently. 

“Please.” Sansa interjected, grasping at the offer. “If there’s any chance this man you speak of might help, I must speak with him.” 

Margaery sighed, and massaged her temples. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”


	4. Chapter three: Bound to be a better ride Than what you've got planned pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't not post chapters if they're written. Did I mention I actually worked out a secret cypher for the note? It's terrible, and I think i may have died laughing reading it. I may be tempted to work at least part of it's ridiculousness in at some point...

It had taken them what felt like hours to get in the air, and Margaery was busy the whole time. Sansa hadn’t had a chance to ask her or Val about the man she was being taken to see. She supposed it didn’t matter, not really. He would get her to Arya, and safely, _if_ she could convince him to. That’s what Margaery had said, _“he’s a right bastard. Vile and moody as all get out, but he’s good. If you want to find your sister, and safely he’s the only one who can take you and still bring you back. Any of theses other bastards this far north… They’ll leave you first sign of trouble and say the wolves got you. Or a bear, anything to wash their hands and go off to cash their check.”_

Sansa had felt the hairs stand up on her neck at that. She wasn’t made for adventures like Arya and the others had been. Sure, she’d done her fair share of mucking about growing up, but nothing that would leave her stranded in a place that could barely be considered a town until the thaw came. 

Sansa picked at the frost which had formed on her braid. Her beautiful red hair did not like the cold and it was all she could do to work her locks into a braid, she’d not had time to dry it before leaving Val’s and it had promptly frozen solid. Margeary had laughed at that, and told her to wrap it up tight so she didn’t catch her death. _” You’re no good to anyone dead”_ she’d thrown out casually. As if people dying around her was no big deal. Sansa shuddered at the thought, she’d forgotten how savage the north was, especially as she was going to the unknown lands, to the land of always winter. 

——  
After spending the bulk of the morning loading and unloading the plane to “balance the load” Margaery finally decided they were ready and helped Sansa to load her duffle and climb aboard. The cockpit of the plane was smaller than she might have thought, and the dash was covered in a mess of unlabeled nobs and levers. She shifted to get a bit more comfortable and heard a clatter of stones, looking down Sansa realised that she had knocked a bit of detritus through a small hole in the floor. She began to feel ill, at the idea of going up in the tiny plane, and made to reach for the door to insist this was all a terrible mistake when the door sprung open on it’s own before her, with Margaery stepping up to lean into the cabin. 

“All set love?” She asks cordially, barely waiting for an answer before beginning to strap Sansa in. 

“I’ve changed my mind.” Sansa chokes out as the last strap gets pulled tight, stealing the breath from her lungs. 

“Nonsense!” Margaery responds, patting at Sansa’s knee and smiling in a friendly manner. “You’ve no other way to get north, and I’ve got an unsuspecting grouchy bastard to deliver you too. Besides, Bronn has already radioed ahead for him to expect us.” 

She smiles again, the corners of her eyes becoming squinty and drops from sight, the door slamming shut behind her with a bang that sets the small plane to shaking. At least, Sansa thought it seemed to shake. It may have been her who was shaking. 

After a moment the door on the other side of the cockpit swings open and Margaery climbs up, bundled in furs and looking none the worse for it. Sansa wishes she had some more of the tried and true clothing the northerners here favor. Her designer winter-ware is falling desperately short, and according to Margaery the air in the cabin will only get colder as they ascend. 

Sansa watches as Margaery confidently begins to poke at the buttons and levers on the console. As the engine roars to life, and she is given one last reassuring glance Sansa closes her eyes and preys to the old gods that this will all be over soon. 

——

They had been in the air for more than a few hours when the wind began to pick up, threatening them with the storm which Sansa could only just see lingering on the horizon. It was a mass of white, filling the sky and cloaking the fringes of her vision in a wintery embrace. 

Margaery’s voice broke in above the cacophony, startling Sansa. The woman’s voice echoed via her headset a whir of machinery surrounding it. 

“We’re almost there!” She called, eyes never leaving the storm. “I’ll drop you and then I have to be off. I need to reach Shadow Tower before this hits!”

“I thought you were taking me to Shadow Tower?” Sansa called back, her voice sounding nowhere near as strong as she wished it did.

“I’m taking you to Clegane, whatever happens after that is up to you doll.” Margaery called back, sparing Sansa a crooked smile. “Worse comes to worse I’m sure he’ll at least let you hire him to get you to Shadow Tower to wait out the winter.” 

The words were meant to reassure her, after a fashion, but when Margaery looked away Sansa turned to face the window and watch as the wind blew little gusts of snow past the wing, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. _I am in over my head._ she thought miserably.


	5. Chapter Four: Bound to be a better ride Than what you've got planned pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter and this one are obvs a two parter. I didn't like them flowing as one, but they're both done so i'm posting them together. Guess who finally makes an appearance in the next chapter btw??

The plane descended in a series of jolts and lurching movements, fighting the wind with everything it had. Sansa had been gripping at her seat the whole while, knuckles white and fingers straining against the fabric. The plane shook and plunged again with the wind shear and turbulence, causing Sansa’s ever growing nausea to mount. She forced a hand off to release the seat and pressed it tightly to her mouth, willing the bile to stay down. 

Margaery glanced over and laughed, not unkindly but all the same. “It’s alright!” She shouted, “We’re coming in for a landing now!”

The cabin was filled even now with the roar of the engine and the rattle of cargo as the planes nose tilted downward, rushing at the ground like an animal giving chase to its prey. Sansa tucked her head between her knees. _seatbelt fastened,_ she found herself repeating as if a mantra _in the event of a crash—_ the plane leveled out, and Sansa felt a force slam her back into the seat as the plane began to decelerate and bounce upon the hard packed snow. 

Sansa could hear Margaery whoop above the noise of the cockpit as they rolled to a stop, but she’d be damned if she opened her eyes just yet. 

“Come on love, I have to beat the storm!” Margaery called, unbuckling herself and springing from the plane. Sansa peered after her onto the barren tundra, snow beginning to swirl around them. Sansa’s own door popped open, and Sansa all but fell to the ground as Margaery helped her out. Her stomach working hard clenching and unclenching, her mouth filling with saliva. 

She vomited. 

—-

Sansa shook from the upset as Margaery set her heavy duffle on the snow, noticing that the plane was still running its propellers kicking up flurries.   
“You’re leaving me?” She coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and looking up at where Margaery stood. “You’re leaving me??” 

Her voice sounded shrill and panicked, even to her. Sansa didn’t even know this woman and here she was clinging to her desperately. It was embarrassing, yet with the snow rushing about them and the thought of a “right bastard” being the only person for miles she felt herself panicking even more. 

“You can’t!” She tried again, her voice finding a little more strength. 

“I’m sorry!” Margaery patted Sansa on the back, and gingerly turned her to face the opposite direction. There was a hazy shape taking form against the whiteness of the storm, a house. “It’s just there!” The woman called in her ear, raising her voice above the din. “I’d take you, but I need to make Shadow Tower before this storm gets any worse!”

The weight of the arm left Sansa’s shoulders, she would have protested if she wasn’t still so disoriented. Unable to raise her voice loud enough to be heard, Sansa watched helplessly as Margaery made her way back to the plane. The woman stopped one last time and turned to look at Sansa, her tawny hair dancing in the wind. 

“Go on then!” She called, offering a smile, and then she was gone. Leaving Sansa to watch as the little yellow plane sped away and vanished into the blinding white.


	6. Chapter five: I don’t do chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's heeeeeeeeerrrrrrreeeeeeee!
> 
> yet another poorly assembled [ picset! ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/123937922529/chapter-five-i-dont-do-chances-before-the)

The tiny cabin stood in a swatch of trees, a dark blemish on the snow dusted landscape. Sansa could barely see it through the haze, surrounded by even more snow and frost than she had thought possible. As she attempted in vain to straighten her coat, and tuck down the windblown hair which had pulled itself from her braid, A cacophony of dogs became her constant companion seemingly growing louder as the hum of the plane died away. The omnipresent noise grew as she struggled to haul her oversized duffle along towards the cabin. It hadn’t seemed quite so far when they’d landed, and Sansa felt her self growing more and more annoyed with the solitary stranger who would be her guide for not rushing out to meet her. 

Sansa couldn’t believe her ill luck. She hadn’t even made it to Shadow Tower, but was still much further south, in the land referred to as the Brandon’s Gift. Or more commonly the Gift. Queens Crown itself had been part of the new gift, and the last vestiges of true civilization by the standards of most. 

Having been there herself, Sansa begged to differ. She had been to Last Hearth as a child, and even that seemed terribly abandoned and alone, even still it was far more than Queens Crown could have ever been. If she survived this, Sansa swore to herself she would be sure everyone who asked was informed of what she thought of these so called “cities of the north”. 

Dropping her duffle, Sansa sucked in a breath of the icy air, it burned all the way in but in it’s own way was almost refreshing after the exertion of trudging through the knee deep powder which had accumulated off the “runway”. Arya’s note had said to hurry, and Sansa was filled with a sense of dread as she bent to again grasp the strap of her duffle. What if by the time she got to Arya, it was too late?

Sansa decided that she was far to near the beginning of her trip to be feeling so dejected. So, as she trudged along, eyelashes sticking and nose running, she began to daydream about what it would be like if the guide merely had a bad reputation. _Mayhap he is a gorgeous flannel wearing friendly type, like the Brawny paper towel guy… Or maybe he looks like that guitarist in that band Arry used to listen to…_ Sansa considered absent-mindedly, her mind swimming with possibilities of falling in love with a dashing stranger. 

She was so distracted with her fantasy she barely noticed when she crossed into the tree-line, and abruptly tripped on a rogue log falling with an “umph!” and sending a plum of powdery snow into the air. 

—-

At first, she thought she had died. The snow around her was far deeper than what she had been struggling through, and as she fell it had encompassed her and caved in upon her head blocking out the light.

Before she had a chance to think up an exit strategy, or consider avalanche survival techniques, a firm hand grasped her collar and hauled her upwards, the snow falling from her in a hail of white. Sansa, by all standards was tall for a girl. Yet whoever had plucked her from the berm towered over her and had flung her about with ease. The stranger dropped her back to the ground as soon as she was upright. It was such a sudden movement to be hauled up and then dropped that Sansa teetered precariously trying to regain her balance and get hold of her senses. 

Sansa steadied herself at last, and made to thank the man who had plucked her from the earth, her breath catching as she took him in. He was a massive man, bundled in northern clothes of the old style, all furs and leathers. His face was masked by a shroud and only his eyes could be seen peeking out from beneath his heavy brow all grey and severe burning with a passion that stole her voice and made her fumble for words. At last, as entranced as she was, Sansa managed to peep out a greeting. 

“I thank you Ser.” She tore her eyes from his own, and bent to dust the snow from her coat. It was all for naught, as the wind picked up and they were suddenly besieged by flurries. 

“I never said I’d do it. If that’s who you are.” The man grumbled, his voice a harsh rasp. “I’d call you’re pilot back before the storm gets worse.” 

With that, he turned, and strode purposefully from her. A massive black shadow of a dog springing from the snow at his command to follow. The two retreating figures vanished into the cabin with the slam of a door, leaving Sansa standing alone in the gathering storm.


	7. Chapter Six: You’re weak and weeded out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am loving writing this, and want to thank everyone again for all the comments and kudos! It's such a different story than what I usually write, so i hope i'm doing well. Plus, things are finally about to pick up in both a plot and a sansan way!
> 
> [ picset ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/123996721464/obviously-being-on-vacation-and-stuck-at-home-has)

Sansa reasoned that her fist will probably have begun to bleed from pounding on the bastards door by the time he finally deigned to open it. The storm had kicked up and was pelting her with frosty ice and snow from all angles. To make things worse, Sansa had never been so pissed in her life. 

_The nerve! “Sour Bastard” is nothing to describe this… this… horrible man!_ Sansa had thought as she’d grabbed her bag and jogged angrily through the snow after the man. 

It’s not as though she hadn’t considered flagging the plane back. She had even glanced to the sky for a brief moment, but knew before she’d even bothered to look that Margaery was long gone, and convincing this man to bring her in was the only hope she had. Especially as the sun was already sinking low, the air around her growing colder by the minute. 

She had at first knocked politely upon reaching the door, but after some time he still hadn’t answered. She knew he was inside, because as she raised the volume of her knock the great black beast he had taken with him began to bark and howl and he’d tried in vain to shush it with that _deliciously_ raspy voice of his. Sansa might be annoyed, but she couldn’t begrudge him the fact that his voice sent shivers down her spine. _Oh my gods i’m desperate_ Sansa thought, pausing her knocking for a moment before realizing she was obviously loosing it and resuming her assault. 

The growling beast had only continued, the yelling man had given up, and Sansa had only banged on the door louder and harder. She would not be turned out like this, without giving this man a piece of her mind. 

Finally, as if he was more so sick of hearing the noise than actually conceding, he opened the door. It surprised her, and as she was still mid-pound when it happened, she knocked him right in the face causing his cigar to fall from his lips.

“Fuck!” He growled grasping at his nose as he made an effort to stem the blood seeping from his nose, his hair a curtain of inky black around his face. Sansa stood gaping at him, like a fish in a tank,Her mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

Sansa could see that it wasn’t only his furs that had made him bulky, the man who stood before her was huge. Built like an adonis, with his muscles straining against the fabric of his thermal. Clegane, as Margaery had referred to the man, turned from her grasping a rag from the entryway to press to his face. 

“Oh Gods!” She cried out, reaching for him. “Are you quite alright?” 

Sansa made to enter to lend her service to him, but the great black dog stood firm in her path. A wall of muscle and fur, hackles raised and a low growl emanating from its throat in warning. Sansa teetered back, the toes of her boots planted firmly on the door jam. 

“Please, Ser. I’m so sorry! It was an accident, I never would have hit you. Its just it’s getting dark, and its snowing, and its so very cold—“

“For the love of the Gods stop chirping at me!” He shouted from behind the towel, eyes burning into her. 

Sansa bit her lip delicately, wanting to help and feeling awful about what she’d done but unsure of how to proceed. Clegane heaved a sigh and whistled at the dog, who’s demeanor changed immediately. Suddenly, the menacing ball of fur became as excited as a puppy and immediately took to prancing about sniffing at her. It’s tongue lolling about leaving a trail of slobber in its wake. 

Sansa took it as an invitation and stepped into the cabin, dragging her heavy duffel behind her. Almost immediately she knew she’d made a mistake. Clegane was glaring at her again, _no that’s wrong… he’s not glaring at me he’s glaring at.. Oh._ Sansa looked back at the trail of icy snow that her boots and bag had carried in. The combination of that and what the storm had blown in had turned the little hallway into something of a disaster zone. 

“You must have been raised in a barn.” He growled, turning to walk away. “Broom is behind the door, close it before you let all the warm air out!” 

Sansa felt her face heat and she knew she must be blushing brighter than a tomato. She looked down at the mess, and saw the great black beast was sitting in the middle of a particularly large pile, smiling at her. 

“Et tu Brutus?” Sansa asked, the dog cocked its head, and began to wag its tail scattering the pile further and kicking up large plumes.


	8. Chapter 7: Sweet blooded and I'm stranded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update!! I went on a mini sailing vacation over my birthday (i'm super young/really old omg), and didn't really have time to work on this! I'm not super pleased with the chapter... but i wanted to post it and move on, so here you go! Hopefully it only sucks in my head, and you all like it. :)
> 
>  
> 
> [ picset ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/124442645404/chapter-seven-sweet-blooded-and-im-stranded)

By the time she’d swept all the snow out the door, half of it had melted and a good portion of the heat actually had leaked outside. Not wanting to leave puddles, Sansa had fished a towel out of her duffle and done her best to mop up the mess. 

The beast didn’t help, and had actually seemed to have decided she must have been trying to play with it. Sansa spent just as much time wrestling the towel from the dog as she did mopping up the icy water. By the end of it she was chilled to the bone and exhausted. 

The sharp sound of a whistle came from around the corner, and the dog bounded off with a bark. Now that the door was closed, Sansa noticed the smell of food wafting from within. Her stomach growled angrily and she groaned with it.

“Are you going to campout in my entry way all night, or are you going to come in?” He growled. Sansa must have been so caught up she didn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps, and his sudden presence startled her. 

“I just finished cleaning—” She rose to her feet and glanced up at him mid answer, only to receive another shock. Hidden partially under his inky black hair was a horrendous burn. The red mass encompassed half his face and twisted what skin remained into a gruesome display. On top of that, his nose was starting to bruise slightly from where she’d punched him. Sansa felt her eyes grow wide, and once again was struck dumb at what to say. “I just— I —“

She hadn’t noticed it upon initially meeting him, there had been so much happening. Now that his face was free of obstruction, the sight was hard to miss and Sansa found herself gaping rather openly. She knew without a doubt that she had never treated someone so abhorrently, and while averting her eyes was her initial reaction, Sansa fought it. She knew that she needed to be on this man’s good side, if at all possible, if she was to convince him to help her. So with that in mind, Sansa focused on his grey eyes best she could and tried again. 

“I am so sorry Ser, I didn’t mean to—“

“Save it.” he growled, features darkening. “Are you hungry or not?” 

“Yes, please.” Sansa said, ducking her head gracefully. 

The man growled to himself and turned away. She sighed, dusting herself off and followed him into the kitchen. The small cabin was not what she expected. Sure, it had the trademark northern aspects, as much necessity as aesthetic, like the wood-burning oven and the open fire place. 

But there were other things too. A piece of art which depicted the sunny fields of the Westerlands, from what Sansa could tell, and an ornate tapestry no doubt telling the story of the mans family line adorned the walls. There was a thick rug covering the carpet and a little sitting area by the fire. 

The entire small room was centered around the fireplace and the oven, built for warmth. There was a bathroom and a closet and pantry off to the back, and a ladder leading up to a sleeping loft. That was all. 

“Are you done?” The man asked, offering her a plate. Sansa stopped looking about and took it gratefully, sitting at the table where a place had been laid. He sat across from her with a plate of his own and began to eat. 

She poked at her own food. It smelled fantastic, but it was traditional northern fare. Stew, probably made from caribou or some other animal, drizzled over a mess of boiled potatoes with a side of dark bread. She took a bite of potatoes, careful to find one that hadn’t been touched by the gravy. 

He watched her as she chewed at it and swallowed before she began searching for another morsel. After a few potatoes, she coughed, throat dry. He got up then, and filled a mug placing it in front of her before taking another mug from a hook and filling it for himself. A golden ale, Sansa realized as she sipped at it quenching her thirst. She shivered again, still cold from the wind outside and the melted snow which soaked her to her boots. 

“You’ll need to eat better than that if you want to survive up here.” He growled, staring at her reproachfully. Sansa flushed, and considered her plate. She supposed there was a rather large shortage of vegetarian food this far north, and getting food delivered was even more unlikely. _make that impossible_ She sighed. 

“I’m a vegetarian.” Sansa said at last, not wanting to meet his gaze. 

“Aye, and i’m the king of Westeros. Eat.” He took a gulp of his ale and Sansa glanced up to see the muscles in his throat working. He set the empty mug down with a thunk, and leveled a stare at her. “If you don’t eat what I cook, you don’t eat. I’ll not waste food, and the dogs would be more than happy for your scraps. So either get over it, or go hungry.” 

Sansa’s stomach rumbled again, and she stared at the bowl. He sighed, and took it from her, dumping it down in front of the great black beast who devoured it readily. 

“He likes my cooking at least.” Clegane grumbled, Sansa tore her eyes from the dog who was licking the floor for drips of what was once for dinner and saw him pull on a sweater. 

“Where are you going?” Sansa asked, rising from her chair. 

“Hasn’t even asked my name, spilled snow all over my house, won’t eat my cooking, and now she demands to know what I do with my time? The gods must mean me to marry you so you can nag me to the grave.” 

Sansa flushed again. He seemed to evoke that response from her a lot, and she barely knew the man. 

“What was your name, Ser? Margaery said your surname was Clegane… but she never said—“ 

“I’m no Ser, little bird.” He pulled on a large coat as well, and its bulk seemed as though it meant to swallow him alive. “I’m off to tend the dogs. Then we’ll talk about why you dumped yourself on my doorstep.” 

——-

Sansa had loosed her layers and laid them about the main room in front of the fire in an effort to dry them by the time Clegane came back in. He caught her at it, and she was something of a sight. All pink toes and freckles. Her damp undershirt clinging desperately to her thin frame and her hair hanging about her in stringy waves after having been loosed from its braid. 

He had come in carrying a large copper object piled to the top with snow, and kicked her drying coat from before the fire to make room for it. Sansa huffed at the thought of his boot adding a fresh layer of wet to the thing, before realizing that the object he carried was in fact an old fashioned tub. 

“Pipes are frozen” He nodded down at the snow, which had already begun to melt from the heat. “You’ll catch a cold if you don’t get warmed up. Wait for a bit then climb in.” 

“Thank you…”

“Sandor.” He shifted about almost awkwardly, running one hand through his hair to pull the lanky black mass so it covered his scars. It seemed an absent minded gesture, as though he didn’t realize he did it anymore. “My name is Sandor.” 

“Sansa.” She offered her hand, it fit delicately in his large one when he took it. A Juxtaposition of soft and delicate clashing with strong and calloused. 

“Sansa.” He repeated, before exiting the cabin into a blinding white haze.


	9. Chapter Eight: This has only just begun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had just about given up on this chapter and posted it last night in defeat but i'm glad I didn't give up, because I like it as it is now much much better. Hopefully you all enjoy it as much as I do!
> 
> Prepare for shameless self-promotion in the form of a badly executed[ picset!! ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/124806591564/chapter-eight-this-has-only-just-begun-before) lol I had a bad time finding pics for this one. If anyone is better at this than me, feel free to make these and i'll attach them to the chapters. :)

Sansa had just finished toweling off and was in the midst of pulling a heavy sweater over her head when the door to the little cabin burst open freezing her where she stood. She never would have believed that a draft could be so sudden, or so strong that it took her breath away, yet it was and it did. She wondered how she was going to manage the weather further north where Arya’s coordinates were, and what kind of plane this tracker had. _I hope its better insulated that Margaery’s_ Sansa shivered again, realizing that she still hadn’t pulled on pants.

It wasn’t everyday Sansa was interrupted before she was finished dressing, and She supposed that she could elegantly pretend as though she had meant her current state of undress as opposed to being embarrassed again by being caught climbing into her pants. Her wool sweater was thick and long, and fell low enough to be mildly descent, but as Clegane rounded the corner, she may as well been invisible for all the attention he gave her.

“Blasted beast…” He muttered under his breath along with a string of curses. Sansa noticed his hand was bloodied, though he didn’t look to be hurt. He paced to a long cupboard and tore it open, retrieving a long rifle from within. He checked it to see it was loaded and left again without a word. 

The sight of the gun frightened her, almost as much as his darkened mood and all the blood, but she found herself following him silently to the door. He hauled it open, and in his haste didn’t bother shutting it again. Sansa could hear his shouts disappearing on the wind. After a moment, a large snowy dog with grey fur and yellow eyes appeared and loped up to her, tongue lolling lazily. Sansa scratched it behind the ears. The gentle dog seemed to like that, and licked her fingers. The two went inside so as not to let more snow in. _He can clean it up this time._ Sansa sniffed. 

——

She’d had dozed off on one of the small arm chairs with a book, the large grey dog asleep on her lap, when Clegane came back in. 

His entrance, however briefly he had meant it was lengthened by the black beast who dallied in the storm, raising his ire. His shouts woke her, as did the whimpering groveling of the big black beast, who was refusing to enter the cabin. Sansa watched groggily as he bent down and grabbed the beast by its scruff pulling it inside, and slammed the door. Sandor appeared to be in a more vile mood than when he’d found her, all civility of the past hour or so long buried and forgotten.

He threw the rifle onto the counter and kicked at something, Sansa heard it clatter against the wall loudly, and slunk deeper into her sweater absentmindedly caressing the grey dog. Watching as he moved about, throwing more logs on, kicking a towel to sop up his wet footprints. Sansa nudged the large dog from her lap and made to stand, forgetting that she wasn’t fully dressed.

Sander did not seem to remember she existed, nor notice her standing half naked in his living room attempting to act casually and make a show of appearing not to shiver. She stumbled back as the black beast bound towards her, and tried to tame it as it made a show of rubbing its damp fur across her socks a low growl building in its throat as it pushed and pulled at her. Sansa was so distracted by the dog pawing at her, that she didn’t notice it, not until she heard the heavy clunk of a belt landing on the floor.

Her eyes shot up, and took in the sight before her. Boots and socks gone, with seemingly no regard for decency, he stood in the act of undressing. Sandor was peeling off his shirt, revealing a taut muscled chest covered in thick dark hair as Sansa watched with bated breath. She blushed again, yet could not look away, dog and wet stockings long forgotten.

“Www—what are you doing??” She gasped at last, balance unsteady as the beast took another turn about her. 

“You’re still here?” He glanced up briefly, taking in the sight of her, before continuing to pull at his buttons.

“Stop that!” She chastised again, as he tossed the shirt to one side. “What are you—“

“I’m taking a bath.” he replied simply, his voice still an angry growl. “I take it you southron girls are aware that men do that from time to time.” 

He began to pull at his trouser buttons. Without thinking, Sansa flew to stop him, tripping on the dog and tipping forward ungracefully. Her hands found his and locked tightly on his waistband in an attempt to slow her fall, landing roughly on her knees with a fistful of coarse and soft fabric.

_Do not look up, do not look up._

“Little Bird.” He broached hoarsely, his voice tinged with amusement, despite the evident anger that seemed to always linger.  
“If i’d have known you were in such a hurry to get me naked, I’d have let you inside sooner.”

Sansa’s hands flew back as if they had just touched fire. If She was red before, that was nothing compared to now. _He’s naked. He’s completely—_ She covered her face.

“I thought not.” He answered for her, Sansa heard him take a step back breathing heavily. “I’d think there would be better places for you to kneel than in front of my cock.” 

“Oh my gods…I’m so sorry, I didn’t.” 

He laughed darkly and offered her a hand up. Sansa took it, careful to avert her eyes, and was pulled to her feet. _as if I weighed nothing_. She eyed him carefully, now that she was nearer to eyelevel, but even staring straight ahead she was still met with the massive wall of his chest. Sansa sucked in a breath. He stood proudly but not arrogantly, unashamed of his nakedness. She met his gaze. 

“I’ll not be long.” He growled, voice low. “You can wait in the bathroom or the loft if thats more to your liking.”

Sansa nodded, and made to grasp her book. The black beast stood in her way but she thought nothing of it, until it snapped at her and growled, hackles raised. Sansa fell into Sandor, back pressing into the hardness of his chest. _and elsewhere… but only just_ The black dog turned its back on them, and continued to growl at the chair. 

“Stranger!” Sandor shouted, pushing her to one side and going to grab the dog by his scruff again. That’s when he saw the other dog, and stopped dead. “Little bird.” He rasped, grey eyes locked with the two yellow staring back at him. “Be a good lass and hand me my rifle.”


	10. Chapter 9: go ahead -Lay your head where it burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you so so much for everyone who is enjoying my silly little romp! 
> 
> and now, *ahem* naked Sandor to the rescue!!
> 
>  
> 
> [ picset or it didn't happen ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/125401809829/before-the-winter-came-9579-words-by)

Sansa felt Sandor’s hand as it wrapped around her middle, gently urging her behind him. She allowed him to push her back, feeling his hand as it lingered, leaving warm traces on her side. His eyes never leaving those of the yellow eyed dog. _no… Wolf_ Sansa saw it now. The creature was far too large to be a dog. She could see the wild in its eyes as it gazed at them lazily. Seemingly unconcerned with Stranger’s threatening stance, or Sandor’s own audacious presence. 

Sansa suddenly recalled how Sandor’s hand had been covered in blood when he came in, a glance in its direction showed that he wasn’t wounded. Sansa wondered if the wolf had killed one of his dogs, he had said he had dogs, she’d heard them earlier. Sansa let her gaze drift from Sandor’s hand and peeked around the hard muscled planes of his back looking past him towards the wolf. It had been kind to her, gentle even. How could a creature who had sought her out to cuddle be a violent wolf?

“Sansa.” He called again, voice firm and insistent. “The rifle.”

The wold yawned lazily, blinking slowly. Sansa stepped forward, and felt Sandor’s hand tighten around her. Their eyes met, only briefly. 

“It’s alright.” Sansa murmured. “She’s gentle.”

“She’s a wolf, and she killed one of my best dogs.” He growled, the timbre of his voice matching Strangers own snarl. 

Sansa felt her self shiver at that, but knew deep down there was a reason for the wolf being here. She pushed passed Sandor, his arm trailing her side as she slowly walked past him, until it lost contact completely. He grasped at her left hand holding it tightly should he need to pull her away quickly. Sansa would have blushed at that if she had not been so preoccupied with what lay in front of her. 

The wolf glanced her way and lifted its nose to sniff at her. Sansa reached out a hand tentatively, edging closer. The wolf leaned closer, and she felt Sandor’s grip tighten. The wolf licked her hand, and nuzzled at her palm. Sansa laughed gently at her, and saw the wolfs tail flop about, wagging back at them. 

Sansa felt him let go of her hand as she moved forward to scratch the beast behind the ears. The wolf licked at her again and rolled over showing its tummy. Sansa rubbed it playfully. Stranger relaxed beside her and moved forward tentatively. The wolf didn’t start, and sniffed at him as the black dog the same. Stranger’s tail began to wag gently. 

“I’ll be Gods damned.” Sandor breathed.

“She’s like such a Lady!” Sansa gasped, turning to face Sandor. Instead of being greeted by his stoic face, Sansa was instead greeted by his flaccid manhood, thickly muscled legs and broad chest covered with dark hair and a twisting of black inked tattoos scattered throughout. Sansa felt her mouth fall slack, stealing her next words from her lips. She’d forgotten he was still naked. 

Sandor was still watching the wolf, not noticing her gaping until the wolf leaned in to lick her cheek. Sansa watched as his face twisted into a shrewd grin, eyes crinkling and mouth turning up on one side making a mess of his scars.  


“See something you like, girl?”

——-

Sandor had been incorrigible. He had paraded about in the buff for some moments while determining what to do with the dog Sansa had deemed Lady, not wanting to leave Sansa alone lest the beast strike again. Then, after giving the dog a thorough once over, he’d decided she hadn’t been the one to attack one of his dogs. It was only then that he stepped into the still warm bath and had begun to scrub. Sansa, still flustered by his display and not _really_ having anywhere to go, had faced the other direction and buried her nose in her book. 

Her mind danced as it muddled the words on the page, and she found herself blushing continuously as she tried in vain to read. Thoughts of the naked man across the room crowding her thoughts in tantalizing gusts. 

Eventually, the light in the cabin grew dim, and Sandor seemed as though he might stay in the big brass tub forever when his gravely voice finally broke the silence. Sansa glanced over the tip of her book back at him, reasoning that he was at least covered in part now. He was watching Lady and Stranger nuzzled up next to each other on the chair, and his heavy brow was creased. 

“Why have you come here girl?” His gaze never left the dogs, and the wind continued to howl and beat at the sides of the small cabin. She hesitated, wondering which version of her tale to give the man, and which version Bronn had told him, if any. 

“I’m a photographer.” she stammered. “I mean to capture the northern lights.” 

“Aye.” he said lowly, splashing lazily at the water. “And why have you really come?”

“I’ve just said.”

“You’ve just lied.” His eyes found hers, their steely grey intensity capturing her. Sansa looked down at her book, and heard the sound of the man rising from the bath. He wandered about for a minute and it sounded as though he was getting dressed. After what felt like an eternity he knelt before her, and grasped her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes appraising her own. 

Sansa watched as remnants of water dripped slowly from his inky black hair, painting his muscled torso in rivulets of damp. Sansa wet her lips. The man before her was described as a bastard. _Sour, vile, moody and grouchy_. Yet he _seemed_ reasonable. Sansa sucked in a deep breath when she felt his fingers drop away, the words spilling from her lips before she could think to form them into some semblance of a rational argument. His grey eyes never leaving her own blue. 

“My sister is missing. She’s the only family I have left, and I must find her. She—” 

His throaty growl cut her off and he stood in a rush of movement. Sansa gasped at the sudden motion, and stood to follow him up, her argument continuing before he had time to protest.

“I was told you’d help me. That you’d take me north, help me track her.”

“Winter is coming girl, are you mad?”

“Well I—”

“You daft bastards from the cities… You all think you can conquer the north, but you can’t. That out there…” He pointed to the door of the cabin, beyond which the storm continued to howl. “That is not to be fucked with. You’d have us both die for a chance to find someone who’s probably already dead?”

His question hung in the air, a challenge. Sansa hadn’t really considered that Arya might be dead. It never even occurred to her as a possibility. Sansa glanced at the dogs, they had been asleep before his outburst, yet were both now watching Clegane with curious eyes. She gazed at him, watching as his arm fell to his side. Her answer was simple really, it was the only answer she had. 

“Yes.”


	11. Chapter 10: All the girls these days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crazy stuff has been happening with my job, so this chapter took longer. I also tried to make it a little longer? I don't know how well it works, but either way. tadah!! :D
> 
> Thanks again to everyone reading, glad you're enjoying!
> 
> BTW, I had a really good mango just now. I don't have a picture of that, but I do have a really snazzy [PICSET](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/125737978789/chapter-10-all-the-girls-these-days-before-the) I made to make up for my horribly irrelevant chapter title. lol

He had refused to speak with her for the rest of the night, brooding to himself behind another mug of ale. When the hour grew late, he helped Sansa up to his loft to spend the night. She had refused at first, not wanting to take his bed from him, but the man had insisted. The look in his eyes left no room for argument, so she took the bed gratefully and was sure to thank him profusely. He grumbled at that, unintelligible syllables that she couldn’t comprehend then left her and the cabin to the night. 

He returned some few hours later, the door slamming with a bang just enough to rouse Sansa from her troubled slumber. She’d been dreaming again. This time, of her cousin Jon. She hadn’t thought of him in ages, for they had never been close but something in Arya’s letter had brought him to mind. Sansa had read it again before she dozing off, trying to think of the best way to tell Sandor about it, to try and get him to help her. Arya had said _“the black brothers betrayed him._ Sansa hadn’t noticed that part at first, not with everything else that had been going on, and everything else in the letter about Arya being in danger and all. 

The line itself had been something of a throwaway on the post card, and Sansa hadn’t understood it at first and dismissed it. Thinking back now she recalled the mercenaries their cousin had disappeared to join, the Knights Watch,. They were sometimes referred to as men in black. Jon had said once when they were children and the group was nothing more than a romantic notion of his that the men of the Watch swore an oath to their fraternal bond upon joining, and it was for life. _Fraternal bonds, like a brotherhood… the black brothers…_ Sansa wondered that she hadn’t pieced that bit together before now. It all seemed so simple. 

With the rest of their family dead or gone, it wasn’t really a surprise that Jon had been missing even longer than Arya. It seemed the thing in the Stark family, to just fade away. Sansa was tired of it. That was one of the reasons she was so keen to find Arya. She knew the pain of losing family, and didn’t want to repeat the sensation. 

Sansa crawled from beneath the fur coverings and slipped as quietly as she could to the railing. There was a tidy pile of odds and ends near the ledge, which provided just the right amount of cover as she peered down below hoping to catch a glimpse of Sandor. _maybe watching him on his own will give me some clue as to how to convince him to help me…_

He paced about, setting one thing to rights then another. It seemed like he had a need to keep himself busy at all times. keep his mind busy and his hands busy. He looked exhausted, and Sansa wondered if that was part of it. That mayhap he kept himself busy to keep himself from remembering something or pursuing some bad habit. _Or maybe he also has demons he doesn’t wish to face…_

She watched curiously as the man set up something of a bed before the fire, and began to remove his layers. He lie down some distance from the hearth, one arm over his eyes. The dogs curled up about him forming a barrier of sorts, and his other hand sought to pet stranger absentmindedly. After a moment he stilled. Sansa wondered if he had been considering her offer, if maybe the light of the morning would she would see him kinder and more willing to be of aid. She crawled back into the mans bed, burying her face in the pillows. They smelled of him, all earth and musk, and it was in a cloak of his scent that she finally eased to a dreamless sleep. 

——

Sansa awoke to the smell of frying eggs and the sound of Sandor yelling at Lady. Apparently the wolf was not aware of the age old rule that dogs are not allowed to steal meat from the table, and had helped herself to Sandor’s bacon while his back was turned. Sansa giggled at the sound of him scolding her, and crawled to the ledge again to watch the drama unfold. 

He was waving his finger at her, pointing to the empty plate. Lady, ever innocent, had her head cocked to one side, and was wagging her tail playfully. Stranger was on his back, asleep. Sansa giggled even more loudly when Lady leapt up to give Sandor a kiss, unabashed and unashamed of her bacon heist. The sound of her laughter caught his attention, and he turned to the loft, shooting her a glare that should have stopped her heart dead. It didn’t, and Sansa wondered if his turn to kindness towards the wolf had taken some of the steam out of his sails. If maybe she already saw through some facade. 

“Go ahead and laugh girl. See how funny you think it is when the beast eats your breakfast as well.” 

“I thought you weren’t cooking for me anymore?” Sansa asked innocently, the teasing words leaving her lips before she could think better of them. He furrowed his brow at her, rubbing absentmindedly at the scruff on his chin. 

“I’ll just have to hurry and eat it then.” Sansa responded quickly, before his mood could change. She ducked back from the banister to dress and make her way down the ladder. Lady greeted her at its base, rubbing against her and leaving traces of thick grey fur all along her thick woolen socks and jeans. 

Sansa shoed her away, walking to the kitchen area. Sandor was turned away, tending the stove, his wide back a wall of flannel and muscle. Sansa bit her lip, feeling shy all of the sudden. She remembered with a blush the feel of those muscles, and the sight of them. _Any gentleman would have sought to cover themselves rather than prance about as he did…_ Sansa gazed briefly down to see how his shirt tucked into the waste of his woolen trousers, right above his bum. _his perfect perky bum_ Sansa felt herself sigh at the thought of it, forgetting herself for a moment. The ex-who-will-not-be-named didn’t have a nice bum at all, she reasoned. That’s the only reason why—

“Best eat before the beast steals it.” Sandor called over his shoulder, his eyes flashing at Lady who was herself eyeing Sansa’s eggs. 

Sansa flushed again. She was starving, haven not eaten properly since getting on the first plane what seemed like a lifetime ago. The plate of eggs made her mouth water, as did the smells of whatever else he was frying up. Sandor finished his cooking and took the opposite seat, his plate piled high with dried fish and newly cooked bacon. A loaf of dark bread sat between them, along with a steaming pot of coffee. It wasn’t Coffee Bean, but it would do. 

“Have you thought on my proposition?” She asked casually, pouring herself a steaming mug. Sandor chewed more slowly, appraising her before answering. 

“The storms will only get worse you know. I’d say we have a week at most before the next one. Not counting any mild snows in between then and now.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t faced before.” Sansa answered with feigned nonchalance, spreading the brown bread with what appeared to be cheese. 

“Who’s to say I want to face it again?” 

Sansa nibbled at the bread, taking painfully small bites. 

“Quit eating like a damned bird and say your piece. I’ve not time for this.” He growled, his fork thunking against the table loudly. The sound caused Stranger to snort and awaken, the dog glowered at his master ruefully. 

Sansa shoved the rest of the bread in her mouth to spite him, and took her time chewing. She didn’t like being scolded, and would see he paid for it every time he raised his voice. _Sour bastard indeed_ The bread was very good, she realized, wondering if he baked it himself. _He probably does._ She thought, taking a sip of coffee to help wash it down. _He probably even has a frilly pink apron he’s been to ashamed to bring out since i’ve been here._

Sansa giggled at the thought of this beast of a man slaving over a hot oven like a 50’s house wife. She hadn’t thought it possible for his brows to furrow more, but they did. She blew out a sigh, taking another sip of coffee. Something made her feel as if she’d known Sandor for a long time, like she could trust him to some extent. It was probably the same naiveté that got her into all the other messes she’d been in, but Sansa knew she couldn’t move forward without his help. 

She chewed her lip again, mouth falling open more than once in an attempt to speak. The words caught in her throat each time though, and she watched him become even more annoyed. Sansa felt a wet nose nuzzle at her hand, and looked down to see Lady had come to rest her soft grey head upon Sansa’s knee. The wolf’s golden eyes met her own, and she took comfort from it. 

“I must go north, with or without you.” She said at last, stroking the beast. “I’ve heard from more than one that you’re the best there is. I’ve got coin, if that’s your price, if its something else you want…” Sansa glanced at him, his frown seemed different now more concern and confusion. 

“Now you listen here.” He growled.

“I’ll probably be left for dead at the hands of anyone else. Robbed and left to die in the snows—” 

“Prancing about like you do? You'd be dead in no time. You’re nothing but a stupid girl. A child of summer… What do you know of winter?”

“Enough to know that you can help me survive it. Without you... You're right. I'd die, sure as anything.”

The steel grey of his eyes was cold as ice as he glared at her, sending a shiver up her spine. He knew the truth of what she’d said, the question was whether or not he cared. Sandor stuffed the rest of his bacon in his mouth and stood, tipping the fish into Strangers bowl. The dog had to shoulder Lady away to gain his prize, and downed it quickly, the bowl scrapping the wood as he licked it clean. Sandor watched them, heaving a sigh. He ran his hand through his dark black hair. 

“Well don’t just sit there girl.” He wrested a heavy coat from the hook by the door and tugged it on angrily, as if he was annoyed that he wasn’t bitter and cynical enough to send Sansa to her death. “If we’re doing this, you’ll have to know a thing or two about dogs.”


	12. Chapter 11: Well, I’m frozen in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to write because apparently there is a lot to the care and keeping of sled dogs. My brain will never be the same. Hopefully, especially if any of you are mushers, I didn't butcher this too badly. Also, apparently sled dogs all have really silly names???
> 
> I'm cold just looking at this [ PICSET ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/126151656189/woowoo-sansa-asked-unable-to-help-the-giggle)

He’d nearly laughed himself to death when he saw Sansa’s layers, his chest heaving from the effort and a gleam in his eye. After she voiced her protests about his comments on the inferiority of her newly acquired north-face gear, he’d had allowed her to exit the house albeit amidst jokes that she’d have to size down her shoes if she survived. Sansa didn’t think that was particularly, especially once she exited the cozy cabin a suddenly remembered the force of the cold air. 

The dogs, well, the dog and the wolf seemed instantly at home as soon as he’d opened the door. They dashed out with speed and had frolicked together playfully yipping and throwing up snow. Sandor payed them no mind, and walked around the back of the cabin.

The snows had stopped, and the sun had come out and was gleaming brilliantly despite still being low in the sky. Sansa had assumed that meant that the day would be warmer than its snowy brother, yet when she’d stepped outside the frigid air had stolen the breath from her lungs and frozen her lashes so she’d had to cup her mittened hands over her eyes to separate them with the warmth. 

Sandor took her to a small shed on the side of the house. Its walls were covered with tack, and different lengths of rope. There was a large stack of dog food. The massive bags covered an entire wall of the little shed, and there were more still stacked on the ground. Sandor pointed her towards a little fireplace.  
“You know how to start a fire then?” 

Sansa nodded, even though she wasn’t really sure, and busied herself with setting up tinder from a little stack of wood off to the side. She tried to remember what Jon had taught her when they were children. Easily burning stuff at the bottom, and a tent of dry wood on top, let it breath. She saw a stack of matches and grabbed them as Sandor dumped a large cast iron pot on top of her wood pile and stuck one of those long lighters to the base setting the wood alight. 

Sansa lowered her eyes at him, glaring. She’d had things well in hand, there was no reason for him to have taken over like that. She huffed indignantly. He ignored her.

“The dogs need around 8-12,000 calories on a trail day, depending on how hard and long they pull.” He began, dropping what looked like fat and dried fish into the pot and bringing it to a boil. “When they aren’t working they get about 6,000. During the summer half that.” 

Sansa felt her jaw drop at the thought of consuming that much food. She’d be massive. Sandor continued, opening a large chest and pulling out a couple frozen ziplock bags. 

“Soup stock.” He said, cutting the bags open. “Its all animal broth, good for getting water into the dogs, to keep them hydrated. They wont drink, you see.” He dumped the frozen lumps into the massive cast iron pot and began to add water. It sizzled and spit and then fell silent. He threw some fluid on the fire to kick it up a bit. “The dogs each get about gallon of soup, a pound of bones, rice, and a pound of this.” He kicked at one of the red dog food bags with his foot.

After making sure the soup was cooking gently he stepped outside, and she followed. Sansa wanted to cry for leaving the frigid shed which at least had a fire, and stepping back into the frigid outdoors. _it has no right to be this cold_

She couldn’t help but coo at the sight before her. Twelve little red houses stood like cherries on a bed of ice. Square, with squat flat roofs and little bowls affixed to the sides, and names scrawled in black along their fronts. They were adorable. 

“Stand back now.” Sandor growled, lifting a heavily clothed arm to bar her path. She watched as the crisp wind twisted rouge strands of inky black hair from under his fur hat. His eyes a the same steely grey as the wolf which pranced around them. 

“Lady.” Sansa called, and the wolf, too smart for its own good, made its way to her and sat primly by her side. She saw Sandor’s mouth tighten into a grim line at that. 

“They won’t like her.” he said, his voice so low she could barely hear it. “Best be prepared for that.”

Sansa looked at him questioningly, but he was already moving toward the little village. She heard the rustle of chains as he grasped a long broom and began to dust off the little houses. As he’d finished the last, he called out. His voice sharp and clear. 

“Get up you lazy bastards! Ha!”

The sudden chaos was unbelievable. Ten dogs suddenly dove from their little houses, all barking and yipping, their chains rattling in the morning air. Sansa covered her ears at the noise and felt Lady press her flanks to her legs. 

“Get up, you filthy cur!” Sandor shouted, pulling at the chain of a large reddish-grey dog who looked almost as wolfish as Lady. He seemed reluctant to wake. Sandor slapped the beasts bottom, and the dog rounded on him fangs barred. He merely pushed the dog roughly to the side, undisturbed by the animals furious nature. The dog came at him again, and Sandor threw it a look and raised his hand in warning. The animal glowered at him, but at last turned off to join his fellows in the cacophony. “That’s Brewster, one of my swingers. Keep a wary eye on him at all times.”

“Is he always like that?” Sansa peeped from a ways off, Lady was standing stiff legged before her, hackles raised and ears alert. Stranger merely yawned and laid beside them, ears forward and tongue lolling about. “Why would he be so mean?” 

“He was one of my brother’s.” Sandor replied simply, turning back to the shed. 

Sansa watched as Brewster went after one of the other dogs. The two rolled around in the snow snapping at each other before a shout from Sandor sent them scattering. He’d come back with the a pair of large buckets, filled to the brim with the steaming meal. He shouted another command and the noise and activity ceased almost instantly. The dogs leapt to the tops of their little houses and sat, all eyes on Sandor. He motioned for Sansa to follow. 

“My team had twelve.” He growled, Moving to the first dog. It was a tawny chinook, slighter than Sansa thought a sled dog had any right to be. “Two leads, two swing, six team and two wheel dogs.” He slopped some of the soup into the first dogs bowl. The animal whined loudly but didn’t touch it. Sandor nodded at him. “That’s YiYi, he’s a team.” 

Following Yiyi were five of what Sandor called Greenland dogs. They were massive dogs with whitish-gold coats. They weren’t friendly either, but it was clear they respected Sandor. They were the rest of the team dogs, and made for pulling long and hard. Kona, Buck, Echo, Bear, and Balto. The five were nearly indistinguishable, yet Sandor knew them all. 

The next dog was also slim, and had an inky brown and black stain down its back. Sandor said it was a Seppala named Konig, and was of kin to the one that died, the animal was a swing and ran along side Brewster. The final two dogs were big fluffy malamutes. Brawny, and seemingly smiling jovially, the two were the only ones Sandor ruffled the ears of as he doled out breakfast. 

“Kobuk and Woowoo, they’re my wheel dogs. Closest to the sled.” He growled. both dogs had dark black saddles of color on their backs, and appeared to be wearing masks. 

“Woowoo??” Sansa asked, unable to help the giggle spilling from her lips. “You named one of those big oafs Woowoo??”

Sandor glared back at her, before spilling the rest of the stew into bowls far apart for lady and Stranger. Lady began to devour hers immediately but Stranger waited with the rest of the animals. 

“Never question what a man names his dogs, girl. Eat!” He barked the last word out, and the dogs fell upon their meals with fervor. “Come on. We need to load the sleigh.” He stamped off and Sansa followed, pausing to look at after him. He was a hulking mass of a man, and the idea that one of his dogs could be named something so silly baffled her. _There’s a story there._ she mused.


	13. chapter 12: Under cover, hide away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to pretend it hasn't been two weeks since I've update... So... Have an extra long chapter!!
> 
> btw... Someone got a little [ Picset ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/127366135149/one-drink-for-each-fear-he-said-setting-the) happy.... It was me. In case you were wondering, that someone was me.

The day passed quickly in a flurry of activity, and Sansa had never been so exhausted so quickly in her life. Sandor spared her no second chances, and no repeated instructions. She imagined that he spoke to and treated her as brusquely as he did most the dogs. She quickly realized that he was testing her. That this was the moment where he was weighing her worth and determination to go north. She rose to the challenge best she could, and paid for it dearly. 

She had helped him wrangle the dogs into and out of harnesses for something close to two hours. She had hoped to get to practice with Lady, as she was gentle and amiable. At least with Sansa. Sandor and the wolf had gotten into more than one spat through out the course of the morning. Beginning with her having decided she needed second helpings of breakfast and most recently when she decided worry at Sandor’s boot laces as he stood by attempting to instruct her on varying commands he used while mushing. 

As for Sansa, her head buzzed as he repeated the dogs’ names and positions, explained the harnesses, how the straps worked, and how he expected her to help leash them in the mornings and tether them at night. _The tethers_. Sandor had shown her a little hammer and a set of steel pegs something like she used on the tent when camping and taught her how to fix them to the earth deep below the snow, and how to lash the dogs down when there was no earth to be reached. 

Her arms and back ached from the effort, and she was beginning to despise Margaery for not hooking her up with a tracker who used more modern methods. Like snowmobiles and helicopters. 

The sleigh they were taking was massive, and loaded to its brim with supplies. Sandor had made Sansa haul all manner of items from the cabin and the shed to the sleigh and showed her how to load it. By the time he let them stop to eat lunch she felt faint with hunger, and about to pass out from exhaustion. She knew without a doubt that this was a process that others must have spent years perfecting, but Sandor had said that they could waste no time to beat the storms. A task that should have taken a week or so to plan was taking only a day. They would leave before the sun rose in the sky the next morning, he’d said, and all must be ready for their departure. 

After a simple lunch of fried fish, more of the thick brown bread slathered in butter and a steaming mug of hot chocolate each Sandor gave Sansa a bit of a break. She helped pack their food stuffs for the journey. He told her that they would be consuming about 3400 kilocals a day. She’d laughed at that informing him that she normally ate around 1100, but he’d furrowed his brow and sighed heavily. Sansa hadn’t argued after that and followed his lead in packing. 

Tinned meats, dried fish, pemican, jerky, dehydrated veggies and milk. There was noodles and sugar cubes. bars of chocolate and dried soups. Rice and porridge and muesli, Sansa lost track of all the food. Her mind swimming with how they could possibly consume so much. Sandor said that they’d restock in supplies when they reached Castle Black. Beyond that, he’d said, there was little and less. 

It occurred to Sansa while packing, she knew little of the north of Westeros. What her history books had told her in school surely. The land was still not completely mapped, despite advances in technology. All attempts to have done so failed miserably, either thwarted by the locals or destroyed by some unknown force. Eventually, the governments had left it alone. The idea reminded Sansa of the medieval maps of the past proclaiming “Here be monsters” and leaving it at that. 

She hoped that Arya wasn’t too far north. The coordinates themselves were close enough, just south of the Fist of the First Men, near to the Skirling pass from what she could tell. They would arrive soon, not long after stopping in at the ancient fortress town of Castle Black, and Sansa would find Arya and put an end to this nonsense. Sandor would gladly convey them to Shadow Tower, where they’d meet with Margaery and share drinks before flying south to warmer weather. All of this would be nothing but a bad dream in a few days. _Just a few days, surely no need for all this hullabaloo._ Sansa pulled one of the sacks of bean soup out and tucked a few more bits of chocolate amongst the mess of food, buckling the lid tightly shut. There was nothing to fear this far north. She _Knew_ that everything would be all right. 

——

That night, Sansa offered to make their meal. Sandor had grumbled at that and shouldered his way into the kitchen despite her protests. His reasoning being if she was sending him north to die, his last meal wasn’t going to be bird food. Sansa scoffed at that and asked him if he expected for the children of the forest to curse them, or a giant maybe to gobble them up in their sleep. Sandor didn’t think she was funny and told her as much. He seared a large steak, tossing the drippings to Stranger and Lady for them to fight over. Sansa had made a lentil pie filled with gravy and veggies and covered in mashed potatoes. Sandor had helped himself to half of it, and remarked that it “Wasn’t half bad” but suggested she could have improved it by adding chicken, or some caribou. 

He also mentioned something about stinking her out of the tent, but she tried to ignore that comment. rolling her eyes, and thought on how odd it seemed they performed their tasks in relatively comfortable silence for most of the day. She’d even noted that Sandor had put more fish in their stores for their journey in place of some other meats. He’d also tucked in an abundance of dried lentils after she’d made the pie, although not without another lewd joke. Sansa wondered if he’d done it because she was a vegetarian and he was concerned about her getting enough food. She mused while pushing the last of the gravy about her plate, before finally giving in and setting her dish before Lady, who began to clean it earnestly. 

“Something on your mind, little bird?” His voice broke the silence. 

He had finished eating long before her, and had moved on to other tasks. _Always staying busy_ There had been no noise for some time but the crackling of the fire, and the gentle ambience of him mending booties for the dogs. Sansa had laughed when he’d presented them to her… He grumbled at her about that too. He took no joy in his life, she’d noticed. Everything was serious to him, except it would seem, when he mocked her. He continued to work on the little slippers, his eyes never lifting from them. 

Sansa watched as his well muscled forearms twisted in time with his hands, large and coarse from a lifetime of hard work. She noticed with wonder that there was more grace to his efforts than a man of his stature had any right too. 

“Didn’t your mother tell you it’s rude to stare girl?” His hands stilled and she saw as his eyes lifted from his work, capturing her in their gaze. Sansa knew she was blushing, she couldn’t help it. 

He continued, looking away. “If you’re just going to sit there, make yourself useful.” He grasped at a small empty heavy canvas bag which lay in a pile of other odds and ends at his feet and tossed it before her. “You’ll not be taking that great suitcase with us, make it count.” 

“You must be joking.” the words choked out of her throat before she thought to stop them. Judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t. “I can’t fit my things in this!” 

She twisted the small bag to catch the light better, and swore she had purses larger. 

“Wear your layers, put in a dry one of everything. A toothbrush, and call it done.” 

She stared at him, in shock. “No shampoo? No soap?? Where am I supposed to put my books??”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then held up a finger. “One book. Just in case we get snowed in. I can’t have you chirping at me the whole time.” 

He went back to working on the booties, completely unperturbed by her apparent outrage. 

“Sandor Clegane you tell me that you’re joking right now.” She snapped, throwing the bag to the ground. He froze, grey eyes glancing up at her from behind a mess of stringy black hair. 

“We’ll have none of that..” He all but growled, voice low. 

It was all too much, had all become too much. She had been hoping that distracting herself with humor, and this whole absurd situation in general would distract her but it only seemed to amplify everything. First, it was the fact that she had dumped and run out on the evil ex, which was reasonable enough. However she’d also run out on her life on the coast as well. None of her friends had known she’d come north, and the way Sandor was always going on the odds of her going back to recant the tale were slim to none. 

On top of that, there was Arya. Arya who had always been such a pain, even though she loved her. _How dare she put me through this!_ Sansa felt the tears begin to burn at her eyes. She couldn’t cry now, yet she was. It was as though all the excitement and frantic energy of the last few days had finally died down to a point where that stupid canvas bag and all it represented slapped her in the face with reality. 

Sansa sniffed as the tears started leaking, and turned into a torrent of tears. Accompanied by all the other great things about ugly crying of course. Sansa wiped at her nose. 

“I caaaaan’t.” She gasped between sobs, failing to notice how Sandor’s face had gone from annoyed to baffled. “He was such an ass I had to dump him, and now the bag, and the plane was so tiny and terrifying and— and—“ Sansa hiccuped as a new wash of tears streamed down her face. “Mum and Dad are both dead, and my brothers are all either missing or dead and Arya was all I had but she wanted nothing to do with me and now she’s gone and jon was betrayed by the men in black and I don’t want to not shower for a week and ride on a dog sled!!!”

Sandor frowned. “You usually run along side.” 

Sansa hadn’t considered that. She thought she’d be riding in the sleigh with the supplies. It was the wrong thing for him to say, she started crying harder, shaking with every breath. The dogs, Stranger and Lady began to whine and worry at her. 

“I always skip cardio at the gyyyymmmmmmmm” Sansa moaned between sobs. “I’m going to fall behind and you’ll leave me!” 

Her eyes grew wide at the thought. She knew somewhere deep down, that she was being ridiculous and having something like a panic attack, but she couldn’t shake it. Sandor shifted awkwardly, his brow furrowing deeper. In her hysteria, Sansa recalled how any other time she would panic like this, whoever was near would hold her tightly and sing to her gently or sooth her fears. Sandor obviously, had no such experience, as his reaction was to take a bottle from a high shelf. Taking two glasses in the other hand he moved towards her. 

She watched through a stream of tears as he settled himself on the table facing her, knees touching her own and long legs wedged in the space between. 

“Hands.” He growled authoritatively, and Sansa responded. His tone left no room for argument. She sniffled piteously as he placed a glass in either of her hands and then took up the bottle. Pulling the stopper from it with his teeth, he poured the richly scented amber liquid into either glass. A shots worth in each. 

“One drink for each fear.” He said, setting the bottle aside and taking one of the cups. “Drown them, and forget them.” His steel grey eyes met her own. “You start.”

Sansa hiccuped, and glanced briefly down at the liquid, before returning her gaze to him. “Arya is dead.” She whispered at last. 

His eyes never left hers as he tipped his glass, draining it in one gulp. She hurried to follow suit, coughing at the strong taste of the tequila, and feeling it choke her insides. 

“Two.” He responded throatily, pouring them each another shot. 

“We’ll die of cold.” They both tipped back their glasses in unison. She coughed again, feeling light headed this time. He filled their cups. 

“I’ll not find my sister.” Her voice faltered, coming out short.

“That goes in turn with the first fear. Give us something else.”

“You’ll leave me.” 

“Now you’re insulting me.” He frowned at her, his voice coming low. “Drink.”

Sansa gulped down her shot as he took his, clutching at her chest as the alcohol burned its way through. Where she had been feeling so lost and confused before, she was beginning to feel better. The absurdity of “drowning her fears” was putting things into perspective in a way she hadn’t imagined, and the drink was loosening her tense mind and muscles. She giggled as he poured her another glass, the liquid sloshing from the cup as her hand could not hold steady. _I always was a lightweight_

“Careful girl.” he filled his own glass, hand steady. Sansa resented him for it. He wasn’t even tipsy yet. She bit her lip.

“You could at least give me salt.”

He gazed at her, mouth turning up into a gruesome grin which sent shivers down her spine. “I’ve salt for you if you wish it. Another, give us four.”

The fire from the hearth cast a glow about him, leaving the ruined side of his face in shadow. He was massive, truly. His hulking form dwarfing her in such close quarters and he was so near Sansa could smell him. He smelled as his sheets did, and Sansa wondered, having not bathed this morning, if she smelled like him too. The thought made her blush. Here she was bearing her fears to a man whose bed she had slept in, telling him of Arya and the letter, of Jon having been betrayed, betting her life on him, and she knew literally nothing about him. Without having a fear to state, or a witty comeback to face his own, Sansa downed her glass. Two could play this game. 

“Your turn.”


	14. Chapter 13: Need you baby, like I breathe you, baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi.

The wind had picked up again, its whistling the only sound aside from the gentle crackling of the fire. Sandor gazed across the narrow space between them, glass half poised to drink at her next confession yet now hesitating at the words that had left her lips. His steel grey eyes burned at her, lids lowered only slightly as if he were considering her. 

Sansa blushed to be under such scrutiny. She looked a mess, had to look a mess. She had been out in the yard all day with the dogs, and then inside the shed tripping over supplies. She smelled like a combination of a kennel, wood smoke, _and him… from his sheets. From the bed I slept in._ Her face couldn’t have helped either. She knew that at this point she was puffy and red from crying, perhaps even a bit splotchy. Her eyes would be wet and wide from the tears, and slightly glazed from the drink. 

“That you’ll eat all my steak on the trail.” He growled teasingly, throwing his shot back with ease and encouraging her to do the same. 

She protested, pulling the glass with exaggerated movements away from her lips, the liquor sloshed onto their joined knees. 

“That isn’t a truth or a fear!” 

“You don’t know that.” He reasoned, nodding towards her shot glass, which was now only half full. 

“I may not know you at all, but i’m smart enough to see through that lie.” Sansa pouted. It was silly she knew, but as he stared at her Sansa felt suddenly all of the tips she had picked up in college to flirt with boys come rushing back. She flipped her hair nonchalantly and stuck out her lower lip only just, looking up at him from under her lashes. 

His eyes burned into her and before she knew it, Sansa had thrown back the remnants of her shot. More so as a means of distraction than acquiescence. The tequila burned the whole way down. With clumsy hands, she grasped the bottle and filled both their glasses. The whole time his eyes never left her, and Sansa felt a different burning deep in her core that she was desperately fighting with herself to not indulge. The world swam around her, and She could feel the tequila turning in her stomach. He gazed at her a long moment as he raised his glass, as if thinking strongly on what he was about to say. Sansa felt her breathing stop as the words left his mouth. 

“I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” 

His voice was low, and Sansa gasped at the confession. He drained his cup, then filled it and drained it again. He gestured to her own glass, which was still full in her hand. 

“Drink girl, you’re behind.” 

Sansa took her shot, suddenly dying of thirst, and promptly sunk forward completely unconscious. 

—

Sansa woke to the dim blue light of a morning where the sun hadn’t seen fit to grace the world with its presence. Her head swam and her mouth was dry, yet despite all that she was oddly at peace and felt well rested. If not completely nauseous. The warm wool blankets scratched at her nose as she burrowed down more deeply, subconsciously seeking warmth in the half-in-half-out moments of waking up. 

She was in his bed again. The musky smell of man clung to her, enveloping her in its scent. _Joff had never smelled like this_ she mused, he had only ever smelled of rich colognes and designer toiletries. Sansa forced the memory from her mind, and snuggled back further into the warm body behind her. Only to realize that there was a warm body behind her. 

Sandor’s hand snaked around her middle as she froze, and pulled her more closely to him. He was clearly still asleep from the way his hand had curled around her lazily, and Sansa could feel the warmth of his breath as he buried his face against her neck. 

It was as if cold water had been dumped over her head. All thoughts of ease and warmth and comfort gone, now replaced with the chill of panic and confusion. _what happened last night?_ Sansa made to pull away gently, but his grasp was firm, his arm tightening around her and his body pressing tightly against her own. A hard mass of man curling about her in the predawn haze. Sansa felt herself flush. He was hard, in more ways than one, and big. She felt him grind against her in his sleep and damn if her body didn’t begin to betray her at the sensation. 

She tightened her legs and tried to distract herself with something else. _with anything else._ Anything besides the firmness pressing tightly against her bottom. The last thing she remembered was telling him it was his turn to share. He hadn’t answered, and everything after that was a blur. She still had a shirt on, but it wasn’t hers… Sansa thought she might die. She’d never had a one night stand before, and really hoped that she hadn’t last night. Her musings were interrupted as he ground himself against her again, his hand beginning to sink lower on her belly, winding its way down. For half a heartbeat she thought to let it, but then as the gravel of his voice rumbled in contentment behind her, she snapped to her senses. 

“No!” She heard herself shriek, forcing her way up. Her head swam and her stomach churned and she regretted it almost instantly, clinging to the beds edge and gasping for a breath of cool air to settle her. His hands fell away and she heard him grown. 

“Gods woman, you know how to ruin a perfectly good dream.” His voice, thick with sleep emerged from somewhere in the dim light behind her. She felt him shift, and swallowed heavily as the movement sent her stomach through another tumultuous wave. 

“Oh please be still.” Her own voice came weekly, and she swallowed again, willing herself to keep it together. The toilet was a long ways away and down the ladder, and she was in no shape to navigate the terrain. 

“If you get sick all over my bed i’ll never forgive you.” He rasped, and Sansa felt as he sat up, his own body wrapping around hers again as he leaned over to feel her face. The coolness of his rough skin was refreshing, and she felt herself pressing her cheek against his palm. “No fever then.” He confirmed, pulling away and standing. “Just enough of a hangover to put a little might like you down for the day. We’ll leave on the morrow, best you get some more rest.”

He vanished for a moment, and returned with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin, his large form looming as he set her up and mopped her brow. His movements were gentle, despite his size and previous behavior and as he held her and saw that she swallowed her fill, Sansa couldn’t help but marvel at how tender his touch was. The last thing she remembered before dozing off again, was the gentle hum of his voice deep in the depths of his massive chest lulling her back to sleep.


	15. Chapter 14: Wrapped around you in due time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing.
> 
> Have a [ picset ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/131729573804/before-the-winter-came-17934-words-by-willowwolf)

She dreamt of him. In her dream, they hadn’t fallen asleep like she’d thought. As Sansa had thrown back her last shot of tequila and given him a sultry grin she’d noticed it. The way Sandor was watching her, eyes filled with lust. His gaze hooded, and burning. She had barely set down the glass when he’d moved across the space between them, capturing her lips in his own, hand snaking around her neck to keep her there. Fingers gripping her tightly and gently all at once. The tequila on his tongue filling her mouth with the flavor. She gasped, arms wrapping around him of their own volition. 

His lips broke from hers then, and his hands ran down her sides and to her bottom. They kneaded her flesh firmly and she felt a rush of warmth between her legs at the sensation, his lips leaving a trail of wetness down her neck and to the collar of her flannel shirt. 

“Damn me.” he muttered, pulling at her layers, sliding her off her own seat and onto his lap. Her legs wrapped around the solidness of him, and she felt him pressing against her through his jeans. Her head, still clouded with the drink craved him, his touch, his taste… She ground herself against him in rhythm and he groaned in response, pressing her down harder, panting in her ear. His movements became frantic, and his voice strained. 

In a flourish of movement he set her on her feet and pushed her towards the ladder. Sansa had stumbled, but he was there to correct her and together they climbed swiftly to the loft, barely making it before clothes began falling to the floor. The air was crisper up here, but she was soon surrounded by his warmth. He had wrapped himself behind her, length firmly pressing against her bottom, the thick hair of his chest tickling her back. His rough hand snaked across her body, one pulling her mouth to his own to be claimed, the other sinking down low. Down and down it went until he found her wet and willing under his touch. Sansa moaned and tensed as he worked her, and he swallowed her cries with hot needy kisses. 

She fell to her knees on the bed, limp and calm, only to have him grasp her firmly and slide up behind her. She _felt_ as he kneeled behind her, positioning himself she was ready for him, she needed him. 

“Are you ready, girl?” He called, voice throaty and deep. 

“Take me.” she gasped, voice strained, wanting nothing more than to be filled with him.

“I said are you ready to get up?” He called again.

Sansa couldn’t understand. How could he be asking if she wanted to get up at a time like this? 

“I said i’m ready, take me.” She answered, growing desperate to feel him inside of her. 

“I’m already taking you north. Sansa.” 

“No… Sandor” She moaned into the pillow, her voice a whisper of desperation. “Fuuuuuck meeeeee…”

She felt herself rock back and forth gently, the dull glow of night giving way to the bright shine of day. “Wake up girl, i’ve no time for games.”

The world melted away and formed anew all at once, and the grimly set face of Sandor glared back at her. He was fully clothed now, a thermal shirt pulled tightly across his massive frame, the same hair that she had _only just_ felt tickling her back peeking through his collar. She felt herself flush, and felt even more keenly the burning desire still lingering between her legs. 

“I’m awake.” She groaned, and rolled from him, trying to keep a straight face. She’d die from embarrassment if he knew the things he had just done to her in her dream, knew the things she had said. If he knew the way she had cried out at his touch…Sansa buried her head deeper in the pillow, hoping to hide its crimson hue.

“A little bit longer then.” He sighed, his voice tight, and she heard his footsteps retreating down the ladder.

——-

The light shining through the window in the small loft lead her to think that it was closer to afternoon if not passed it than it was to morning, and she stretched languidly at the thought. Until the sound of Sandor shouting outside brought her dream back to her in a rush. Fragmented visions of touch raced through her mind, and Sansa clung to the pieces while at the same time trying to force them away. 

_He is just a man. A man I am employing to help me find Arya._ Sansa pulled on her clothes and dropped from the loft to gather her boots and attempt to rummage up some coffee. _A very attractive man, who you just dreamed you almost…_ If she was to have any hope of this whole thing not going south, that was a thought that she’d do well to dismiss as soon as possible. It was probably because she was drunk, she reasoned, and because he happens to be the only man within a few hundred miles…

After eating, Sansa and the dogs found him outside, shuttering up the small house. The cabin looked different now that she took a good look at it, and the gravity of what she was asking this complete stranger to do was finally beginning to sink in. He was a guide, yes, among other things. Margaery had said he was also a currier of sorts, and apparently made a rather well sought after home brew. _"Everyone does everything up here"_ the woman had said. _"None of us could survive as they do in the south."_ He would be leaving this place. For the whole of the winter if his tales were to be believed. The weather would be at it. He'd have to blow out the pipes and finish shuttering the doors and windows. Traps would be set for rodents and the air would settle, undisturbed and stale around his tiny home.  
Sansa wondered how much he'd miss it. She wondered how much she'd miss it. She had been here only a few days and already felt so comfortable wrapped in his life. She was asking him to die. To go out into the wilderness, to the far north where few if any ever dared venture on the hope that she might find her sister. Arya had never been up to any good. But Sansa could not deny the feeling that nagged at her. Arya would not come to her unless she was truly desperate, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine. 

"Finally decided to crawl out of bed have we?" 

Sansa gazed at him, a dark figure moving swiftly about not stopping his task to gaze at her. She flushed again, watching how he lifted the massive wooden shutters as if they weighed nothing. In her dream she had felt the strength of those muscles, had felt his hands on her. The memory made her burn red. 

"I feel much better now." She managed at last, her voice sounding far sultrier than she had hoped. He must have noticed for he glanced at her, the same wicked grin which he seemed to save for her moments of embarrassment flashing across his face. 

"Did you dream?" He asked, his grey eyes flashing. 

Sansa didn't think it was possible to become any redder. "I may have... I don't remember."

“You sure? No nagging remembrances?” 

“y-yes… I really don’t recall anything” She stammered, and knelt to run her fingers through Strangers fur. “The drink must have done me in.” Her fingers ruffled Stranger’s ears, and the beast pressed firmly against her touch. “I don’t remember a thing from last night.”

Sandor stared at her thoughtfully. 

“Shame… I’d think something like that would stay with you” He turned from her and picked up another shutter. “Give us a hand.”


	16. Chapter 15: My bodies had enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!!  
> (to those who celebrate anyway... ) 
> 
> So, i wasn't going to post this, but then I had a random power outage and nothing better to do so I polished it off. yay for no electricity!!
> 
> Also, have a poorly planned [ picset ](http://msmeagan.tumblr.com/post/134032752214/before-the-winter-came-20434-words-by-willowwolf)

They’d been busy all day, and well into evening with few enough words passed between them. The tension was thick, but even with her fragmented knowledge of the night before, and the fear that she might have mumbled something incriminating in her sleep Sansa was still unable to mention anything that would prompt a response that might fill in some blanks.

It was with complete exhaustion that she finally turned in for the night. He slept on the sofa and would take no argument, while Sansa curled up in sheets that smelled of him and willed herself to sleep. At this point with so much time having passed, Sansa was to afraid to ask if they’d actually done anything. She was pretty sure they hadn’t, but then she didn’t really remember a whole lot. On the other hand, her not remembering would explain why Sandor had acted oddly all day, wouldn’t it?

On the other hand, she had acted oddly too, or it might have seemed so. Every time his strong hands grasped at something she remembered the way they _felt_ in her dream. Every time he’d grunted or made some other sound while lifting or pushing, or _anything_ she’d flushed with the thought of how he’d groaned in her dream, the sounds sending shivers down her spine. By the end of the day, it had felt as if he were consciously tormenting her. 

The man had cooked dinner shirtless for crying out loud, saying he was “hot from having been bundled up all day”. For dinner that night, Sandor made a hearty stew with his remaining fresh veg, and grilled the meat for his portion off to the side. Sansa had never been so happy to have such hearty simple fare, and the dark bread paired with it seemed to hit the spot perfectly. Except for the fact that he sat across from her, ignoring her, and looking amazing. 

It was near impossible to stand and Sansa had excused herself early to go to bed. She’d donned the same shirt she’d woken up in, his shirt, and crawled under the covers. It was a long time before she managed to drift off to sleep.

When he roused her the next morning she moved in a haze of delirium. She didn’t taste her food, and he had to remind her to finish it. She laced her boots with sleep in her eyes, and tucked on more layers than she thought was possible. When she felt all but stiff with clothing, Sandor pulled her into a heavy fur coat and tucked a thick hat over her head. 

Everything he did was with intention, and routine. He had done this a hundred times, and this time was no different. They loaded last minute supplies onto the heavily laden sled. Stores piled so high Sansa began to doubt if the dogs could manage it. The dogs… They had known as well that today was the day. The beasts were up like shots when Sandor called to them, and the noise was deafening. 

She helped him to dole out their gruel, and helped to hold them steady as he tucked them into their booties and harnesses. No words passed between them, he moved on instinct, and she watched with wide eyes trying her best to anticipate where he needed her if he needed her at all. It was obvious he could and had managed this all alone, and Sansa hoped more than anything that she was helping rather than hindering. 

At last all the dogs were in their tethers, with Stranger and Lady at the front. Konig the Seppalla and Brewster, the big Tamaskan stood tightly, taking turns trying to nip at Lady’s haunches, to show her what they thought of being tied behind a wolf. The team dogs seemed to feel the same, and Sandor was forced to rebuke more than one to keep them in line. 

Sansa had wanted to chastise him for it, but she knew that he was the Alpha here, and she knew she couldn’t manage the beasts any better. He treated them as gently as he chastised them though, and not a one was wounded by his smacks, and many even earned a rub behind the ears once they settled in line. 

Sansa chanted the dogs names to herself again as they settled in, stomping her boots and lingering in the failing warmth of the feed shed as he finished his preparations. Not that it was much warmer at all. The thermometer outside had read 13°F while the one here in the shed read a measly 25º. Sansa thought she might freeze to death. _Stranger and Lady up front,_ she thought, ticking them off. _Brewster, and Konig behind them. Yiyi, Balto, Kona, Echo, Bear… and one more B… Buck.._ Sansa pulled the woolen wrap more tightly around her face, burrowing down. The sun would be up soon, it should bring the warmth with it, but Sandor had said that wasn’t so. He had said that the dark cloudy winter days were warmer than the bright ones, because there was nothing to keep the warmth down and the sun was only there to mock you. 

The two big dopey looking fluffballs in the back began to yowl and test the limits of their lines. Kobuk an Woowoo, she remembered finally as Sandor knelt low to double check their shoes. His face was met with a flurry of dog kisses as the two stumbled over each other to reach him. He met every advance, pushing them back, ignoring their boisterous protests. At long last he stood and approached her. Sansa left her haven at his behest and watched as he put out the embers and shut up the doors. 

They walked together to the sled, and finally he turned to her and spoke. His voice was muffled behind his furs but she made out his words clear enough. _You’ll be riding on the sleigh for a while, till we get to the woods. After that you’ll run. Whatever you do, keep in line with the sleigh, the dogs will have packed the earth and formed a trail so the going will be easier. Once they go, they don’t stop, so don’t fall behind._ Sansa looked at the dogs, they were so eager to be off and all she felt was nerves. A hollow ache in her gut, and a tightening of her chest. She was terrified. Sandor began to strap her into a harness of her own, something like a belt. A long cable ran between it and the sleigh where its excess lay neatly coiled. 

“If you fall, or a storm comes up.” He said by way of explanation. “Or if the ground gives way.”

“This will save me?” She asked, fingers toying with the cords edges. When he didn’t answer she looked up at him, and saw a stern look there in his eyes. 

“Don’t depend on anything or anyone this far north.” He caught her face in his hands. “If I die, the dogs know their way home. Don’t lose them. Nod so I know you understand.” 

She didn’t want to nod, but she did. Sansa didn’t want to ask what he meant, didn’t want him to elaborate. She just wanted this nightmare to be over. He helped her onto the massive load, and showed her the nook he’d built for her. It was cramped, but warmer than standing up had been once he’d covered her with furs. That is, until he gave the command to run. 

“Get up, get up!” He shouted, voice piercing the silent snowy morning. 

The dogs began to yowl and yip wildly, tails flashing back and forth and muscular frames straining against their ties. She heard Sandor grunt behind her as he helped them push off and all at once the sled lurched ahead. They were off. 

“Mush!” His voice boomed behind her, echoing in the morning air. The dogs pulled as if they weighed nothing, the trail, well defined enough for now disappearing behind them. Wind bit at her face, and Sansa tucked in deeper. She didn’t notice it happening, but soon she was fast asleep. 

—-

The glass left a dew of condensation on her fingers, and the liquid within pulsed in time to the beat. Flashing lights made the hazy club seem bigger and smaller all at the same time. Sansa wondered if this was something akin to what Alice might have felt when falling down the rabbit hole, trapped and intrigued. Afraid, but excited. She had never been to a club like this, they didn’t really have them up north. 

Joffery had invited her. They had been seeing each other for a few weeks, and he was everything she ever wanted. Beautiful and dignified, someone people admired. The only thing she didn’t like was that she couldn’t find him, so she ventured deeper into the club. The place was like a maze. A discotheque of confusion with mirrors and lights and bodies throbbing with the music. They pressed against her as she moved and covered her in the scent of their sweat and perfume. It was thrilling… If only she could find Joffrey so they could share this. 

It was as if he was calling to her when she heard his laugh during a gap in the music. Loud and vibrant, it led her right to him. Sansa pushed through the bodies, a smile on her lips. She was the envy of all the girls in school. _The_ Joffrey Baratheon had chosen her, wanted her to be his. It made what she saw as she pushed past the last body all the more shocking. 

The smile danced across his lips, as his nimble fingers wrapped around the exposed flesh of the girls side. His other hand caressed the hair from her face and their lips met gently. But only at first. Once he’d had his taste, and his acquiesces from the unknown brunette Joffrey pressed himself against her, their lips crushing together. It was as though a pitcher of water had been dumped on her head, and the glass dropped from her fingers. 

He heard it, and as his lips broke from the brunettes he looked towards her. The girl on his arm suddenly forgotten Joffrey’s lips once again turned up into that feline smile. 

“Sansa!” he called, voice echoing from the VIP section where he stood. “Sansa, come here.”

It was a command, and despite everything she was feeling she walked towards him. He grasped her hand as she came close, and pressed a kiss firmly against her lips. 

“Sansa.” He said, words curling with in the same sinister manor as his lips had. “I’d like you to meet my friends.” 

His hands never left the girl, and she nipped at him as he spoke. Her lips pressing here, her teeth and tongue there. Sansa felt as if someone had reached into her chest and grasped her heart tightly. It was a strange choking sensation, like she would be bound tightly and then explode all at once. 

She snatched her hand away as Joffery’s voice droned on, fading into the haze of music and the laugh of the pretty brunette. The girls eyes burned at Sansa, laughing. Sansa thought she would die, thought she was dying, until the girls eyes grew wide. Joffrey stopped talking suddenly, his attention caught as well, and Sansa felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her. She recognized his hands first, the scars and strength of them. Then his sent, then felt it as the loose tendrils of his inky black hair tickled her, as his shadow of a beard rubbed coarsely against the soft flesh of her neck. His lips pressed to her collar bone, gently, and everything and every one else faded away. She felt safe.

—

She felt cold. They’d stopped moving. How long ago, she had no idea, but when she came to the sled was resting in a clearing surrounded by a dense mess of trees, and the dogs were spread about her sleeping soundly. Sandor lay amongst them upon a bed of hay. Woowoo and Kobuk pressed tightly against his sides. He was snoring softly. The sun had risen fully and was actually beginning its decent into the afternoon sky. 

She was cramped, and her legs pinched painfully long asleep after being tucked into the sleigh for so long. Sansa slowly forced back the warm wraps that covered her and felt the shock of it as a rush of frigid northern air assaulted her, the warmth of her cocoon escaping into the air as if it had never existed. It was all she could do to force herself up, and place her tingling feet upon the snowy ground. 

She fell immediately, face first into the fluffy snow. One of the dogs, Kona or Echo maybe peered at her from behind the shelter of their tail. The dog stared disinterestedly for a moment and then promptly went back to sleep, shutting her out. Sansa rolled over, helpless against the chill of the frozen ground beneath her, willing her legs to stop stinging. She had been dreaming, of when she first realized Joffery was awful. Of when she realized how much of a mistake she’d made, and how screwed she was. He regularly kissed other girls at clubs, flirted with waitresses… He and his friends didn’t even bother trying to hide it from her, and that seemed to make it worse. 

This wasn’t the first dream she’d had like this since coming North, but it was the first one that hadn’t ended with her waking in the night crying, even if the idea of Sandor being featured in so many of her dreams of late was rather distracting. Sansa supposed that perhaps running away wasn’t the bravest thing she ever did, but it was definitely a better option then staying behind. That’s what she needed to focus on. She could worry about what to say to Joffrey and her “friends” if she ever made it back south. In the meantime, Sandor had said they weren’t far from Castle Black, all they had to do was finish crossing the Gift. Once there, they’d see if there had been any other word from Arya, there had to be something. 

“You’ll catch your death if you stay like that.” His voice was a sleepy rumble from the far side of the sled. He had seemed to be sleeping so soundly when she’d awaken, and Sansa wondered if he ever slept deeply. Then, that brought to mind what had happened not two days before. She had thought him to be sleeping deeply then to, but what if he wasn’t? She rolled over onto her back, and gazed at the heavy canopy of trees above her. Her cheeks flushed with the thought, and rosy from the cold. He appeared as if out of nowhere above her, one hand sunk low and offered out.


End file.
